


Countering the Clockwise

by SnowboundCathedrals



Series: Creative Writing for School [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gods, Winter, legend, myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowboundCathedrals/pseuds/SnowboundCathedrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another English story, a myth about why leaves change colour, why we have winter, and why pine needles stay throughout the winter.</p><p>[ENG2DE - Academic English - Grade 10]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countering the Clockwise

A long gasp of breath. The sounds of the wind are soothing. An inhale. An exhale. The chill encompasses you. It’s tranquil. Peaceful. But you feel something. A feeling like an arrow into the everlasting beyond. Tragedy. It’s everywhere. It’s here. The snow crunches under woodland feet. There is a new quiet that wasn’t here last time. An unsettling one. But one voice still remains.

Time returns. Countering the clockwise.

The yellow sun glows brightly down onto the bright green grass. The blue water cascades over the grey rocks of the riverbed. The crisp, white trilliums swaying to the wind. The stalks of lavender that dance across the valleys. The brown knobs of the cattails towering over the pale cream of the sand on the shore. Finally, the brilliant greens of the leaves and needles of the trees feathering us in a protective shadow. The forest.

“There’s so many colours in the forest, from black to white and everything between,” Maple states.

“Yeah, but there’s just way too much green!” Birch counters, “The forest could use a little less green.”

“But Birch,” Maple replies, “you’re green, and so are the rest of us.”

“Duhh, thanks for the news flash. I didn’t know you were on the evening news,” Birch snoods at a now scowling Maple, “but seriously, wouldn’t it be amazing to be a different colour, like a purple, or a blue-“

“Or a red!” Maple interrupts.

“What did I say about interrupting me! It’s extremely-”

“News flash! It isn’t all about you Birch!”

“How dare you! I’m going to come over there and rip you right off your stupid branch and-”

“Would you two quit it!” Oak interrupts, “I bet even the beavers at the pond can hear you from here!” Maple and Birch fall silent.

“But Oak,” Maple begins, “haven’t you ever wanted to be a different colour?”

“Well, I think a nice orange would look good on me, much better than this distastefully overused green,” Oak returns.

“I bet Pine would change their colour in a heartbeat. Anything to try and get over those horrible prickles,” Birch mocks.

“I actually like my needle figure,” Pine replies, “and my green colour.”

“Wow, you have absolutely no taste liking either of those. Were you hit by lightning as a bud or something?” Birch asks snarkily.

“There’s got to be something we could do to change our colours,” Maple intervenes.

“Did you two ever think about asking the goddess of colour?” Oak asks smartly.

“How would we ever get the message to her? The gods are very far from here, and we’re not exactly the most mobile,” Birch replies.

“Like this,” says Oak. Oak then booms out very loudly at a passing bird.

“Dove! Dove, come here please!” The dove jumps at the noise, but soon flutters over to land beside Oak.

“Yes? What do you need Oak?” The dove questions.

“I need you to deliver a message to Dathluisne for-”

“The Goddess of Colour?” The dove interrupts, shocked.

“Yes, the Goddess of Colour. I need you to tell her that the leaves have an issue, one that lands perfectly in her area of expertise.”

“I’ll be right on it! May be a bit of a long flight though,” the dove replies before fluttering off into the descending sun.

Time ticks by as the moon makes her ascent into the darkness. It flows as she spins overhead before making her death into the rainbow of the rising sun.

The crisp, yellow sun glows its golden rays over the greens of the grass and blues of the water. In a beautifying gleam of prismatic light, Dathluisne appears before the newly awoken leaves.

“Hello, what is it you need me for?” She asks, the wind slightly tousling her rainbow hair.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Dathluisne. We have a request for you.” Oak begins, “there is too much green in the forest, and we would like to be able to be different colours. We want to stand out and show all these different colours. Is there something you could do for us?”

Dathluisne pauses and thinks. Her mind going from burning red, to an unsure yellow, and finally to a passing-

“Green,” she starts, “is a very mystic and powerful colour, but if you are so unsure of being symbolled in such power and mystery, then I can allow a slight fluctuation of hue. But, you will have some boundaries. You can start at green, and move your way around the prism to where red meets brown, but no farther. If you stray past, there will be consequences. Do you agree to these terms and allow yourselves to these powers?” 

“Yes,” Oak, Maple, and Birch chime in unison.

“What about you, Pine?” Dathluisne inquires.

“I’ll pass, I much rather be green anyways,” Pine replies.

“Very well,” Dathluisne says. She then turns to face the rest of the leaves, and with that she points her finger at each leaf in turn as a rainbow light shoots from it and enters them. Dathluisne then disappears into a shimmer.

As time flows, the leaves experiment with their newfound powers, transitioning from vibrant yellows to brilliant oranges to majestic reds before they all enter on the same dark red hue; their ending point.

“Well,” Maple begins, “we have tried everything we can.”

“But I want more!” Birch insists.

“But we can’t, Dathluisne said…” Maple trails off.

“How is she gonna know what we do and do not do? She’s off doing way more important things in Godland to watch over what we’re doing!” Oak exclaims before changing to a brilliant blue.

“See, what’s she gonna do about it?” Oak sasses.

“You’re right!” Birch agrees, “I’ve always wanted to be this colour anyways.” Birch then shifts to an entrancing violet. Maple hums an agreement and changes into a sky blue.  
The time passes, but only a very small amount. In the temple through a looking glass, she watches.

“How-how dare they go against my word! With all the power I gave them! There will be consequences! Consequences to the highest degree!” Dathluisne booms before bursting out from the looking glass room and into a much colder one.

“Aimsirfuar! I need you to bring about a great cold!” She exclaims as she barges into his room.

“What shall it be, Miss Dathluisne?” he asks.

“Some inhabitants of the forest, those that cling to the arms of the trees, have gone against my word! They will have consequences to the highest degree! I require a deep cold brought to them! One that is everlasting! One that will continue to return till time refuses to pass!” Dathluisne exclaims.

“That can be done,” Aimsirfuar returns, “I will do so at once.” He flees the room and begins his trek to the forest.

Time jumps. It rockets. It springs so vividly to a powerful turning point. A final tick.

He enters the forest. The trail of soul chilling cold follows in his wake. Each touch freezing at once. The chill enters the forest. He places his final touches on four branch clingers. Sharp edges, flowing curves, vivid angles, all crumble. Finally, the bitter end. A spine. A prickle. A single line. A needle. The final freeze hits. It is absorbed. But nothing is changed. Try as he might, the needle repels his taunts. Staying evergreen.

We start at the end. We end at the end. The time returns.

A crackle underfoot. You find the brown death of a leaf. You move onwards. Almost buried in the banks is another now long gone soul. A final soul rests peacefully atop an icy bed. You move onwards. A tree loom ahead, unchanged from the season prior. You stop. You gaze upwards. A tree. A tree still unchanged. A tree wrapped in the blankets of the chill. A tree still warm in its soul. Evergreen.


End file.
